


silver moon sparkling

by minutiae



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (only mentioned), Arnaghad is the little spoon, Boys In Love, Erland's Knightly Virtues, First Kiss, Grooming, M/M, OG Witchers, Sign Language, Soft Witchers (The Witcher), Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 11:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutiae/pseuds/minutiae
Summary: Herein lies soft Arnaghad/Erland, just for Bee.If you don't know who they are, I suggest checking out Bee's tumblr- they wrote up some beautifully concise slides for you to meet some of the less well known.https://hungarianbee.tumblr.com/They're pinned right at the top for you.Now onward to some softe boys kissing. Happy Birthday, Bee. <3
Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: The Faded Texts





	silver moon sparkling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Megeara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megeara/gifts).



Erland watched as Arnaghad went through his forms. The sun was barely up, the sky still grey and the damp chill in the air was unpleasant, but the sweat that beaded off the back of the big man in front of him had to be uncomfortable.    
  
Spring was coming quickly, and they would be sent out to make their own paths soon. Erland had watched Arnaghad over the last few weeks retreat back into himself.    
  
He’d been an angry, sullen child, prone to biting when the mages had first dragged him in, tossing him bodily in the room with the rest of the children they’d purchased. Jagoda had been the first to try and befriend him, while Erland just watched.    
  
He’d watched Arnaghad for as long as he could remember. Those bright blue eyes hidden under long, ragged red hair. His teeth bared, snarling in the feral way only children could. 

Jagoda couldn’t help but fear him a little, after the first time he’d bitten Cosimo, and was promptly flung into the dirt. The blood on his teeth with mud on his face did nothing to make him look less intimidating.  


The mages kept their distance from the small, angry boy after that.  


But Erland watched, and waited. Soon those calculating blue eyes noticed him watching, and the game began. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk. But Erland had experience with this and was not dissuaded. He spelled his own name slowly, carefully with his fingers, watching as Arnaghad glowered from across the room. Then he pointed to Jagoda and spelled her name. He went through them all, until halfway through naming the children Arnaghad had crawled closer, watching his fingers carefully.    
  
Giving the silent boy a way to speak may have gotten his attention, but Erland held onto his friendship with his dedication and his fists.    
  
One too many times, Arnaghad had snapped his fingers at a snarling Erland, standing between him and a fight, pinching his fingers in a clear “No”, his face angry and posture aggressive. They orbited each other as they grew and learned and trained for years. The night before they were to undergo the final mutagen trial, Arnaghad had climbed into Erland’s bed, small and scared and silent. Neither of them had slept that night, but Erland clung close, pressed to Arnaghad’s back as they waited for the dawn of the day they might die.    
  
Erland considered this, squatting down to watch Arnaghad’s steps, back and forth. They curled up together for years, Erland always wrapping his bigger body around the slight frame of the younger man before the more natural changes in their bodies made Arnaghad shy. He grew fast, handwidths to every inch that Erland grew until finally, finally, the shuddering screams and wracking cramps of too-fast bone growth and the tension of muscles cramping stopped. 

Arnaghad was nearly twice as wide at the shoulders as Erland now, who stood only chest high to his once small friend.   
  
He still sometimes preferred speaking silently, his huge hands still deft and clever, the sparkle in his now golden eyes mischievous. Their first kiss had been a dare, from Jagoda, unamused and irritated at the gravity the two possessed, circling each other.    
  
She’d demanded they kiss and make up, after an argument started by Erland again getting into a fight  _ again _ with Madoc. She’d sneered, snapping at Arnaghad to silence his guard dog. Quick fingers declared it impossible, that Erland bit his fingers when he tried.    
  
“Then use your  _ mouth _ you great idiot.”    
  
Erland had argued,  _ of course _ . It took Arnaghad to reel him back by an arm, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, their noses bumping and Erland’s golden eyes shocked. Jagoda just doubled over with laughter at the efficacy of the slight kiss. Arnaghad smirked, and rumbled softly, his voice rough with disuse and the impending bass of adulthood, “Worked.”    
  
Their second kiss was not nearly as startling but twice as momentous. A moment of bright laughter, knocking shoulders with their bare feet dangling in the cold river. Erland had his head thrown back, his hair long and braided back as his heritage dictated. It was a good look on him, and Arnaghad was entranced. He knocked his shoulder into Erland’s carefully. Always carefully, now. He was so much bigger than his childhood protector.    
  
But when Erland looked up at him, bright eyed and smiling, Arnaghad shifted, slowly, leaning down over him, one hand braced on either side of the small, wiry Skellegan beneath him. Wide eyes searching, Erland finally grumbled, “Are ye gon’ kiss me or stare at me you great feckin’ lump?”   
  
Arnaghad’s laughter was booming and bright, and Erland pulled him down close, until he rested on his forearms above his chest. The soft press of lips was uncertain and questioning in this far more intimate position. Arnaghad had braced himself over top of Erland. He was so, so big compared to his small, bright bird, and it continued to spin in his mind how Erland never flinched away from his touch, and pressed close beside him around campfires. And now, those hands so much smaller than his own came up, cradling his face. Erland tilted his face gently, before moving in to kiss him again, the soft drag of lips on his own made him gasp into Erland’s mouth, shuddering for the feel of fingers pressing into the back of his neck, the soft scratch of Erland’s beard growth on his face. It was the beginning of many tentative, quiet kisses stolen in any moment they were alone.    
  
Erland remembered the first time he took his feelings in hand and shoved Arnaghad gently down, to sit on the floor before their bed, braiding his long hair carefully to stay out of his face.    
  
Arnaghad had just huffed in soft complaint before settling down, resting his head on Erland’s knee. It became a habit with them, Erland perched on Arnaghad’s bed every night to practice braiding his hair. Arnaghad often just dozed, grumbling as Erland would tip his head to rest on his other leg as to better reach the other side. The braids were often uneven, but Arnaghad eventually admitted he liked the feel of them. He had grumbled it softly one night in the dark, but was unable to express the comfort it gave him to have the ghost of Erland’s hands in his hair all day long.   
  


* * *

  
  


There was little that was more comfortable than being wrapped around Arnaghad’s big body, pressed close and quiet even in the deep dark of the night. And now here, in the cool damp of the early morning, Erland watched as the weight of his gaze on Arnaghad’s broad back became heavy enough to draw his attention.    
  
The silence of the early mornings was always Arnaghad’s favorite. Erland just waited, as he slowly dropped out of his stance, turning to smirk at where he squatted. The grass was still far too damp yet to sit on, but Erland was impatient.    
  
Arnaghad strode over, tall and proud, knowing Erland would blush at the heavy sway of his kilt. He knew he would have always been tall, even without the mutagens. The mages had prodded and poked at him, inspecting the length of his legs, frowning as he was wracked with the cramps of too fast growth. The man who had sold Arnaghad, according to Alzur, had been enormous in his own right. He had towered over the mage as he held out the boy he’d been by one arm, small and silent.    
  
Erland smiled softly, watching Arnaghad shift the thick leather sporran from his hip to hang in its proper place. It had been impossible to keep it a secret with how much time they spent together. But Erland worked on it quietly, knowing Arnaghad would suspect, but never ask.    
  
His eyes went wide, when Erland presented it. It was one of many traditional courting gifts of his homeland, but Arnaghad hadn’t dared to ask if that was his intention. The small bird spoke loudly and often, bright and open with his opinions, but they spoke so little about the gravity between them.    
  
They never mentioned that Erland no longer even bothered with the pretense of climbing into his own small cot at night. They hadn’t put a name to the surety of knowing if one reached out, the other would twine their fingers together. The request for a kiss had changed from a small, shy sign to a tilted smile, a raised eyebrow, and even Arnaghad’s favorite - the simple lift of a chin. They knew they would be sent out to forge their own paths in the wilderness soon, and there was no certainty they’d be able to walk together. 

But now Erland squatted nervously, a smile and deft fingers asking questions meant only to deflect his clear anxiety. There was either news, or Erland had an  _ idea _ . Arnaghad had grown to love and hate the little bird’s ideas- so often devolving into danger for them both, even though his bright laughter made his heart soar.    
  
So Arnaghad just crouched down low, downhill from Erland, with a shift of his kilt to preserve Erland’s knightly virtues.    
  
One of the last arguments they’d gotten into was finding out that Erland had disappeared to hunt a royal wyvern that had been spotted nearby. A king of beasts, Erland had declared, dragged back by an irate Jagoda. He’d been battered and bruised, with new scars and a feral gleam in his eyes.    
  
As Erland held out the cause of his nerves, and Arnaghad ran his hand over it carefully. The bright silver wire knit necklace, he’d seen Erland working quietly in the evenings. Jagoda loved the thick, sturdy chain that the wire knit made, and Arnaghad had assumed that this latest creation was for her.    
  
The finished product before him was entirely the opposite of what she preferred to wear, however. The chain was twice as thick, sturdy and strong, and carefully wrapped and balanced across the lower strand were three talons. He fingered them gently, before glancing up to see a nervousness on Erland’s face that he’d not seen since the night Cosimo had announced the mutagens were ready to be administered.   
  
There was nothing for it, but to dip his head low and wait, a silent acceptance. The weight of the chain was truly negligible compared to the weight of his armor and swords, even the heavy belt and sporran he cinched his kilt tight with every morning.    
  
But clever fingers on a small hand plucked and placed it resting on his bare chest, the long talons buried in the curls of his chest hair. He let Erland stare and fuss before it was clear he wouldn’t speak.    
  
The deep rocky rumble of Arnaghad’s voice caught Erland’s attention immediately, wide eyed under his loose, long black hair. Sleep rumpled Erland, before he braided his hair back was one of Arnaghad’s favorite things. He couldn’t help the soft smile as he spoke.    
  
“Already was, Erland.”   
  
“Daft git. Not a lick of  _ romance _ in that thick skull of yers.”    
  
Arnaghad’s laughter boomed through the small clearing, sending the birds aflight. He knocked his head gently into Erland’s, who smiled, the softness erasing the nearly ever-present worry lines that furrowed his brow and aged his young face. 

There weren’t any words that mattered anymore, and Arnaghad shifted to kneel before his little bird, cradling his face between his hands, pressing their foreheads together. Erland had asked the question his heart knew the answer for, twice. Once in Arnaghad’s language, and once in his own. 


End file.
